


taller than on avalanche

by teacupfulofbrains



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Fluff, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Injury, NOTHING SUPER BAD I PROMISE, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, SO MUCH FLUFF, also he is significantly taller, also there is a fight at the end, analogical - Freeform, basically virgil is thomas's fight or flight reflex, lots of familial lamp bc i love them, nothing super bad but, royality, so he's got super speed and super strength, this is just a collection of fun scenarios where he proves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 14:05:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacupfulofbrains/pseuds/teacupfulofbrains
Summary: Virgil is taller than the other sides, but no one realizes how much taller.Virgil is faster than the other sides, but no one realizes how much faster.Virgil is stronger than the other sides, but no one realizes how much stronger.Then he proves it.(OR: virgil is thomas's fight-or-flight reflex, which makes him tol-strong-nyoom boi, and the others aren't exactly aware of this.)





	taller than on avalanche

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted from tumblr!!! i wrote this a while ago i just never put it on ao3 but i figured i might as well! i'm still working on a bunch of projects (including chapter two of ldad!!!!) so have this in the meantime : ) 
> 
> tw: cursing (but not the bad kind), mild blood mention / mild injury mention at the end (no one's seriously hurt don't worry)

Virgil is taller than Roman and Logan and Patton. It’s not news, exactly, that they have height differences; Thomas is five-foot-ten, as are Patton and Logan, and Roman clocks in at five-foot-nine (much to his ever-growing annoyance). Virgil is about five-foot eleven or six feet even, they think, a clear inch taller than Logan and Patton, but it’s hard to tell since he spends all his time slouching and hunched over.

He’s bent over the kitchen table, one day, playing with a Rubik’s Cube that Logan gave him, each side a different shade of purple. (He’d actually given him a whole set, rambling about reducing anxiety through sensory stimulation and how maybe now Virgil wouldn’t pick his sleeves apart thread by thread. The only thing Patton and Roman had taken away from this was that Logan _desperately_ needed to be brought up to speed on modern courtship rituals.)

Patton is bouncing around the kitchen, making muffins, humming show tunes. Virgil does his best to time the clicks of the Rubik’s cube with the pace of Patton’s song, and Patton ruffles his hair appreciatively when he swings around. Despite his bouncy, somewhat childish personality, Patton is strikingly kitchen-competent. There’s flour spots on his shirt and a banana smear on his cheek, but other than that he’s fairly clean.

Patton’s getting ready to scoop the batter into the tray when he realizes that he hasn’t put the chocolate chips in! He rifles through the cabinets, looking for them, but they’re nowhere to been seen. Then he tips his head back, and he realizes that they’re on the very top shelf, in the very back. Patton pushes himself up on his tiptoes, stretches his arm up, up, up, feels the strain in his shoulder and the tips of his fingers as he wiggles them (like it’ll make the container move closer or something) but he can’t quite reach. 

He’s considering just climbing onto the counter when he hears the telltale screech of Virgil’s chair sliding out as he stands up. “Um, Pat? Do you want some help?”

“I think I’ve got it, kiddo,” Patton groans. “If I can just . . . reach . . . a little . . . further . . .”

“Patton, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” Virgil says. “Let me help. I’m taller, remember?” 

Virgil’s an inch taller than Patton is, and Patton doesn’t know how much reach that actually affords him, but he figures it can’t hurt to get Virgil’s help, can it? He takes a step back, letting Virgil access the cabinet. He expects Virgil to push up onto his tiptoes, to reach his arm out as far as possible and reach the jar.

He does _not_ expect Virgil to simply stand up straight, lift one hand while the other one fiddles with the Rubik’s cube, and pull the jar down effortlessly – _effortlessly_. Patton looks at Virgil and does a double take. He has to _tip his head back_ to meet Virgil’s eyes. 

Virgil sets the jar down on the the counter. “Anything else you need while I’m up here, Patton?” 

Patton doesn’t say anything, just stares at Virgil. “Gee, kiddo, how’s the weather up there?” Virgil smiles, and shrugs. “I didn’t know you were that much taller than us!”

Virgil looks confused. “This is the same height I’ve always been?” 

The oven beeps that it’s preheated, and Virgil steps away from the counter. Patton blinks, and suddenly Virgil is shorter. He’s still taller than Patton is, of course, but he’s no longer so tall that Patton feels like a shirt that’s shrunk in the wash. He’s only an inch taller than Patton again, and Patton isn’t sure if he really saw what he thinks he just saw. 

“I’ll see you later,” Virgil tells him. He bumps his shoulder against Patton’s as he leaves, an affectionate gesture that Patton is sure he’s picked up from Roman (or from Patton himself). The difference is that the gentlest brush from Virgil sends Patton stumbling backwards. He smacks his arm against the countertop, but he doesn’t say anything to Virgil. He probably just had less stable footing than he thought he did.

The oven beeps again, more insistently, and Patton forgets the weird exchange with Virgil in favor of concentrating on keeping the batter in the cups where it belongs.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan is going to scream. He’s absolutely sure that he left The Binder™ on his desk, and yet on his desk it is not. There are several binders on his desk, neatly stacked in alternating directions to create a single, level pile, but none of them are The Binder™. The Binder™ is incredibly important because it’s where Logan has been organizing ideas for new videos for the past three days. 

(He can, of course, make another binder and rewrite the video ideas easily, but the bigger concern is that The Binder™ also contains a list of ideas for dates with Virgil, as well as some . . . romantic ramblings that he would _really prefer_ Patton and Roman never saw.)

Logan has been staring at the desk for three and a half minutes, and he’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize someone else is in there until someone touches his back and then he _jumps_. “ _E equals MC **SCARED**_!” he shrieks, whirling around to see Virgil, hand outstretched, eyes wide. 

“You alright there?”

Logan readjusts his tie. It doesn’t need readjusting, and he and Virgil both know this, but his fingers along the silky fabric is calming in the same way that Virgil’s hands wrapped around the sharp, blocky edges of a Rubik’s cube is calming. “Perfectly. Can I help you, Virgil?”

“I could say the same to you,” Virgil says. “You’ve been staring at the same spot on your desk for, like, three minutes, and there’s nothing there.”

“I appear to have . . . misplaced something.”

“I really don’t think that’s possible.” Virgil smirks, steps around Logan to sit in his desk chair, leans forward and knocks his head against the center of Logan’s chest. Logan takes a deep, calming breath, and prays that Virgil cannot hear the sudden thunder of his heart against his ribcage, a rapid staccato of feelings tangled together around one concept: _I am supposed to be the embodiment of cold, hard logic, and I am in love with the embodiment of anxiety_.

“Are you listening, Lo?”

“Hmm?” He hadn’t been, and judging by the way Virgil exhales – a short puff, not exasperated but fond – he knows that already. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I was lost in thought. Would you mind repeating yourself?”

“I said, I know you, Logan, you alphabetize everything and you color-code your underwear drawer. I find it very hard to believe that you could misplace anything.”

“I left it on the desk,” Logan says. “I left it on the desk, and then I left the room. And then I came back, and it was not there, and I need it, badly.”

“What’s so important about the binder, specs?”

“Video plans for later,” Logan answers, automatically. “It’s important that I get my hands on it again as soon as possible.” Virgil pushes his head into Logan, just a little bit, and Logan feels the long-familiar shape of Virgil’s mouth against his chest.

“We should go look for it then, huh?” He pushes himself out of the chair without lifting his head from Logan’s chest, forcing him to take a few steps back. Virgil stands, and for a split-second he thinks Virgil might be taller than he remembers. Then Virgil is twining his arm around Logan’s, lacing their fingers together, leaning his head on Logan’s shoulder while somehow supporting Logan’s weight in that strange way that he does, and Logan pushes it from his mind.

“Are you offering to assist me? I thought you didn’t like excess work.” He’s teasing, and Virgil knows that. 

“Yeah, well, you do stupid stuff for love, right?” Logan squeezes his hand, tries to steel himself to say the words, but he is logic, and logic does not often mix well with emotions. Instead, he taps his index finger on Virgil’s wrist in a short staccato, the only phrase of Morse code that he knows Virgil will understand without thinking about the translation. _I love you_. 

Virgil snorts. “Love you too, Logan.”

They comb through the living room easily, although Logan suspects Virgil isn’t really looking, because in the space between one breath and the next, the space between Logan, looking under the chair, and Logan, standing up, Virgil claims to have searched the entire rest of the room, and there’s no way he moved that fast, right?

(Logan believes him, he promises, but he does a quick once-over sweep with his eyes, just to be on the safe side.)

When they go to look in the kitchen, they find Patton merrily scrubbing away at the dishes in the sink. There’s a small radio on the shelf above the stove, but Thomas isn’t currently listening to music or thinking of a song, so it stays silent. “Have you seen Logan’s binder?” Virgil asks. 

“Kiddo, I’ve been here the entire morning, so I don’t know, but you’re welcome to look around for it!” Patton chirps. Virgil untangles himself from Logan and moves as though he’s going to open the refrigerator, even though Logan has absolutely no idea what Virgil could be looking for. He, in turn, looks towards the kitchen table, which is covered in pages marked by the distinctive messy scrawl of a Roman on a creative burst. The Binder™ is not there. 

The radio comes on suddenly, softly blaring a song from some musical soundtrack or another that Logan faintly recognizes, which does not surprise him. (He is unsurprised by the song coming on, but also unsurprised by the faint familiarity.) What _does_ surprise him is Roman, bursting into the kitchen, singing along at the absolute top of his lungs.

Logan flinches, but doesn’t say anything. Patton turns around, smiling (still smiling, always smiling), but seems otherwise unaffected. Virgil, however, makes a strangled sort of yelp-shriek and is decidedly not in front of the fridge when Logan’s gaze makes it over there. 

“Sorry to scare you, my chemically embarrassed romance,” Roman says, breaking out of song. “I hope I didn’t frighten you too – badly?” He looks around the kitchen in confusion, but then he looks at the fridge and his gaze travels up and his jaw drops down. Logan follows suit, both on the looking up and the jaw dropping, because _what_.

Somehow, in the space between one thought and the next, between Roman, entering, and Roman, entered, Virgil had – apparently – leapt on top of the fridge and crammed his entire body between the refrigerator and the ceiling. He peers down at them now like a startled cat, eyes blown so wide they can see the whites stark against his eyeshadow.

“How – how did you even get up there?” Roman stammers. “When – I – what the _fuck_ , Virgil?”

“Language!” Patton chides. 

“What are you _doing_ up there?” Roman demands.

Virgil blinks, once. “Um . . . just chillin’.” Logan facepalms, Roman audibly groans, and Patton bursts out laughing.

“That was _perfect_ , Virge!” he says. “I’m so proud of you! Seriously, though, did you hurt yourself?”

“No, but I’m scared out of my mind,” Virgil grumbles. “Seriously, Princey, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.” He slides out of his hiding place effortless, head first with his arms not reaching to break his fall, and Logan blinks and then Virgil is in front of him, brushing dust off the sleeves of his hoodie.

“You’re like a cat,” Roman marvels. Logan recalls a distant memory of Thomas’s grandparents’ cat, and how that cat had hidden itself atop their fridge in moments of extreme emotional duress (read: a primarily Patton-controlled Thomas chasing the cat around grabbing at its tail). Virgil sneezes, dust from his fridge escapade apparently having wormed its way into him as well as onto him, and it’s small, like a kitten’s. 

Patton makes the obligatory “aww!” sound as Virgil rolls his eyes, delves back into the fridge, and pulls out The Binder™, plastic coat fogged with condensation.

“How – where – what the fuck,” is all Logan can manage. 

“ _Language_ , Logan!” Patton says. Virgil kisses Logan’s forehead, hands him The Binder™, sticks his tongue out at Roman, and shuffles off, presumably to his room, socked feet padding softly against the hardwood.

“We all saw that, right?” Roman asks. “Because it’s entirely possible that I’ve had too much caffeine and am beginning to hallucinate.”

“Are you referring to Virgil pulling my binder out of the fridge, for some reason? Or to Virgil somehow managing to wedge himself on top of the refrigerator in less than half a second? Because I did, in fact, witness both of these events, although I too am at a loss for words in the face of them.” The condensation from The Binder™ is starting to seep into Logan’s shirt.

“So I’m okay, then,” Roman sighs, relieved.

“I didn’t say that. You’ve definitely had too much coffee.” 

Patton whirls around from the sink, eyes gleaming. “Ro, you promised me you wouldn’t do this again!” he pouts, wrapping his still-soapy arms around his boyfriend. Roman sweeps Patton up bridal style just to hear him giggle and rubs their noses together in a sickeningly romantic gesture. 

Logan pushes out of the kitchen, still trying to wrap his mind around Virgil’s movements. They’d been fast, almost too fast, and yet . . .

When he enters his room, he sees Virgil on his bed, already fast asleep (which speaks to his sleep deprivation, Logan should really see about helping him out with that). He’s very carefully positioned to only take up the right side of the bed, arm flung outwards over the empty left half. Logan rolls his eyes, but toes his shoes off anyway, folding his glasses and placing them neatly in their case. 

He knows Virgil sleeps better and longer with another person there, so he locks The Binder™ safely in his desk drawer before settling himself next to Virgil. Almost immediately, Virgil rolls over in his sleep, throwing his free arm around Logan. It settles a comforting weight across his waist, and Virgil’s cold nose presses into the back of his neck. Logan laughs, softly, as Virgil sleepily nuzzles into him, and then he closes his eyes and lets himself fall asleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Roman pulls his legs into a crisscross position beneath him, eyes trained on the laminated paper propped against his knees. A mountain of soft blue yarn sits in his lap, and Roman loops it around the crochet hook with precision. Patton likes blue, and Patton likes soft things, and Roman likes Patton, so he’s camping out on the couch with a “Crochet for Dummies” booklet Logan had found for him and a Disney playlist.

Roman slides his bright red headphones over his ears, taking a moment to admire the glint of the small golden crowns on the earpieces. They’d been a gift from Patton, and even though they’re old and the leather around his ears is worn and the paint is starting to peel, Roman stubbornly refuses to use any other pair. 

He lets himself get lost in the simple, repetitive movements of the crochet hook. Once he figures out what the fuck he’s doing, it’s easy, and he kind of zones out of focus. Before he knows it, there’s a long blue rectangle starting to spill off his lap. The scarf is going wonderfully, and Roman gets dizzy with glee just thinking about the glow on Patton’s face when he sees it. 

He registers movement in the corner of his eye, and he snaps his head up sharply, afraid that it might be Patton. It’s Virgil, who points to the television and raises an eyebrow. He makes a few quick shapes with his hands: _will this bother you?_ Roman shakes his head, and Virgil smiles at him. He begins to poke around the room, presumably looking for the remote, and Roman lets himself sink back into the soothing strains of _I Won’t Say I’m in Love_. 

He’s abruptly pulled out of his reverie again when he’s pulled into the air. Roman flings his headphones off with a shriek; they land around his neck, music still blaring. Virgil shuffles couch cushions around with his left hand, still searching for the remote. His right hand is lifting Roman in the air, effortlessly holding him above his head. Virgil doesn’t even seem _remotely_ bothered by Roman’s weight. And Roman isn’t stupid; he’s the shortest of the four of them, but he’s still well-built and sturdy from his many years of adventuring. Virgil shouldn’t be lifting him this easily. 

“What are you _doing_?” Roman yelps. Virgil looks up at him even as Roman drops the crochet hooks and yarn and clings frantically to Virgil’s forearm. His legs are shaking slightly; he must have been sitting in one position for longer than he thought. But he can’t uncross his legs without disturbing Virgil’s grip on him.

“Looking for the remote,” Virgil shrugs. The movement of his shoulders jostles Roman, and he squeaks as he grips Virgil’s arm even more tightly. “Are you alright, Roman?”

“What if you drop me?” Roman says, and he shoves the unprincely tremor out of his voice even as Virgil raises one eyebrow and begins to laugh. His entire body shakes with laughter, and Roman wobbles perilously. “ _Virgil!_ ” 

“I’m stronger than you think I am, Roman,” Virgil laughs, and his voice is lighter than Roman has heard it in weeks. “I could hold you there without breaking a sweat for hours. You want proof? Here.” Virgil readjusts his grip so that Roman is sitting in his hand, legs dangling, and then slides his other hand beneath the couch and lifts it clear off the ground. 

Carefully but easily, Virgil sets a still-airborne Roman on the still airborne couch, crouches, and picks up the remote with his now-free hand. He puts the couch back exactly where it was and looks at Roman with a ridiculous triumphant smirk on his face. 

“How are you that strong?” Roman demands. Virgil raises an eyebrow. 

“That’s nothing,” he says. “You wanna see something really impressive?”

Roman nods, still not sure what’s happening. “I’m gonna go get Patton and Logan. Be right back.” Virgil sinks out of the living room, and Roman quickly shoves the crochet hook and yarn beneath a pillow to hide them from Patton. 

Virgil reappears with Patton and Logan on either side of him. “Alright, so, I’m gonna need Patton to pick you up, Roman. And then I’m gonna pick up all three of you.”

“Is that why we’ve been called here?” Logan asks. “So you can prove a point to Roman?”

“I’m not sure it’s such a good idea, kiddo,” Patton says. “What if you hurt yourself?”

“You didn’t see him lift the _couch_!” Roman protests. “He – you – you didn’t see it!” 

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Look, just – we gotta do this now, ok? Let’s go.”

Roman lets Patton swing him into his arms, bridal style, and locks his arms around Patton’s neck. Patton takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss Roman; he tastes like brown sugar and vanilla essence. He can hear Logan making snide remarks, but he doesn’t care.

Virgil crouches onto the ground, holds his arms out like he’s flexing his biceps, and beckons Logan and Patton forward. “C’mon, guys.” Logan steps forward, somewhat hesitant and confused, and lets Virgil guide him into sitting down on his shoulder and upper arm. Virgil grips Logan’s upper arm with his hand to steady him. Patton catches on quickly, settling down on Virgil’s other arm. Roman tightens his grip as Virgil takes a single steadying breath and then stands. Logan and Patton both lurch when he does.

“Tesla, give me strength,” Logan hisses, teeth clenched.

“This is fantastic!” Patton laughs. His arms tighten around Roman, and Roman can’t stop himself from laughing, too. 

“See?” Virgil grunts. “No big deal. Anyone could do it.”

“We decidedly could not!” Roman says. Virgil walks around the living room, forwards and then backwards, keeping them steady and sure on his shoulders. Roman notices his eyes darting between them constantly, making sure that they’re okay and that they aren’t in danger of falling off, hands tight like vices around Logan and Patton. 

“Can you lift more than this?” Patton asks.

Virgil looks up at him. “Yeah. I can prove it, too.”

“Could you, maybe, possibly, put us down, first?” Logan asks.

Virgil sets them down on the couch, gently, kisses Logan’s head, and then proceeds to _pick up the entire couch with them on it_. Virgil has to use two hands to pick it up with all of them on it, and Roman curls a little more tightly into Patton’s lap. Logan’s hands are white-knuckled on the arm of the couch, even as Virgil starts lifting the couch up and down above his head like he’s doing bench presses. 

“How are you _doing this_?!” Roman yelps. 

Virgil shrugs, and the couch keeps going up and down, slow but effortless. Patton just keeps laughing, even as Virgil sets the couch down and pulls Logan to his feet. “Yeah. Pretty strong. Surprised you guys never noticed. I mean, it’s not like I ever tried to hide it.”

“You do wear hoodies twenty-four seven, Virgil. We cannot discern anything about your physique from your manner of dress,” Logan says. Virgil looks unimpressed. 

“Maybe Pat and Ro couldn’t, but you’ve seen me shirtless before. As a matter of fact –”

“I believe we are done here!” Logan yelps, pulling Virgil out of the room. Roman considers removing himself from his boyfriend’s lap, but Patton’s body heat seeps into him, warming him to a comfortable drowsiness. The curve of Patton’s shoulder is the perfect complement to the shape of his head, and he buries his face into Patton’s neck and inhales what he thinks must be the closest he will ever get to the scent of sunshine itself.

“You okay down there, Ro?” Patton asks. Roman murmurs against Patton’s neck, a slow slur of syllables that aren’t anywhere close to words. He feels Patton’s face in his hair, feels the gentle pressure of lips against his scalp as Patton leaves a trail of soft kisses along his scalp. “You need a nap, Roman?”

“Yes please,” Roman hums. Patton leans his head against Roman, and that’s how Virgil and Logan find them two hours later, sound asleep and curled into each other like a pair of kittens.

*~*~*~*~*

It occurs to Roman, dimly, that this might have been what could probably be considered a terrible idea.

He’d brought Patton with him on his quest into the Imagination, because Patton had begged, and because Roman rather liked the idea of showing him what a dashing, heroic prince he really is. And it had started off so easy, too. Simple quests, simple monster. In his haste, however, Roman had forgotten about the insanity-level-hard quest he’d been hacking away at for months when he needed to vent, and he’d taken one wrong step and accidentally triggered it to start back up again.

Roman is surrounded by giant wolves, towering serpents, and a manticore-chimera looms behind its minions. Winged scavengers circle lazy loops around them in the sky. They’re so high up, they appear to be the size of normal crows, but Roman knows how huge they really are – twice the size of a hang glider. They’ll swoop down once Roman defeats all of the land minions and he’ll have to battle them. Or, they’ll swoop down once the land minions defeat him to feast on his corpse. Whatever comes first. He already has a slice along his side, but the red of his sash is camouflaging the blood. He can feel the bruises forming on his torso and arms. 

He at least has the sense to tell Patton to leave, to go and get help, to sink out and get Logan. Logan will be able to talk Roman out of this. They can all use the Imagination, of course, but Logan is the best at tearing it apart – the more fantastical the dream, the faster he works. He usually stays out, letting Roman have his flights of fancy, but Roman needs him here now more than ever.

“Roman, I can’t leave you here alone!” Patton protests. Roman’s heart swells, because Patton has no battle prowess whatsoever but he’s still willing to stay here and risk injury for Roman, because he loves him. Roman loves Patton, too, and it’s because he loves Patton that he shakes his head. 

“It’s alright, dearheart,” he says, and despite the present situation he’s pleased to notice that Patton still turns pink at the nickname. “I can hold them off until you bring specs in to help!” He blocks a blow with the flat of his blade and then twists, tearing the attacker in half with a clean slice. His imaginary monsters dissolve into coal-black powder when he kills them – no muss, no fuss, they simply evaporate into the air. 

He manages to dispatch three more monsters before he sees Patton, still there, rooted to the spot. “What are you still doing here, puffball, you have to go!”

“I _can’t_ , Roman!” Patton wails. “I can’t sink out! I don’t know what’s wrong, but –”

“The failsafe,” Roman whispers. Sometimes, when he sets up particularly dangerous quests, he’ll disable the room’s ability to let him sink out. It ensures that he stays to see it through. “Patton, I –”

Roman intends to reassure him, to tell him that they’ll be okay, of course they will. Patton is clearly panicking, and the overwhelming anxiety flowing through his veins isn’t good for anyone involved. If it gets much worse, it might summon –

_Virgil_. The name flashes into his mind, clear as crystal. Virgil isn’t as effective as Logan, but when he gets going, the buildup of anxiety can blockade all of Roman’s creative efforts. If Patton keeps panicking, it’s possible that he’ll catch Virgil’s attention. And if he draws Virgil hear, Logan might follow. It’s a terrible plan, but it’s the best Roman can do on short notice. 

“Roman, _look out!_ ” Patton shrieks. Roman tears his eyes from Patton just in time to see a massive black wolf leap at him. He flings up his sword up to stop it, but it sinks its fangs into his arm instead. Roman switches his sword to his other hand and cuts the wolf in half, pulling his injured arm against his chest. He’s ambidextrous when it comes to swordsmanship, but he’s stronger in Thomas’s dominant hand. He swallows a pained scream to keep from worrying Patton, but he inhales sharply, and Patton can clearly see the blood rapidly staining his sleeve.

Patton screams, a loud, long, heart-wrenching sound. “ _Roman!_ ”

A swirling black vortex appears in the ground, and Virgil flies out of it, with Logan hot on his heels. He hits the ground rolling and springs up again almost instantly, hair ruffled, hoodie half-zipped. His eyes are wide and panicked, eyeshadow darker than normal. “ _Patton, what’s happening?_ ” Roman winces, from the wound in his arm and the distortion in Virgil’s voice.

“We can’t sink out!” Patton cries. “Roman’s dying, and I can’t do anything to help him!” Virgil takes one look at the scene around him, sees the enemies circling Roman and the blood on his arm and the panic in Patton’s face. Logan sits up from where he’d (rather unceremoniously) smashed face-first into the ground and assesses the situation.

“Virgil, I’m fine!” Roman calls. “Get Patton and Logan out of here!” Virgil swings Patton over one shoulder and Logan over the other with no effort at all, sprinting towards a large tree. He scrambles up the tree, depositing Logan and Patton safely on a large, sturdy branch. 

“ _Stay here,_ ” he says. “ _I have to help Roman._ ”

“Virgil, this is dangerous,” Logan pleads. “Please reconsider.” Virgil kisses him, and the anxious aura is so strong that when he pulls away, there are traces of eyeshadow beneath Logan’s eyes.

“ _I love you_ ,” Virgil says. “ _I just want you to know that_.” He leaps from the tree and hits the ground running, a black and purple blur as he shoots towards Roman. The assorted small monsters part as the manticore-chimera roars, advancing slowly and steadily with ground-shaking footsteps. Roman presses his wounded arm to his wounded torso, holding his sword out even as his arm shakes from the strain.

All of a sudden, Virgil is between him and the monster. He stands straight up, and Logan asks, “Was . . . was Virgil always that tall?”

Purple light ripples down Virgil’s arms, lightning arcing off his back and his arms, hair rising in a static-y halo around his head. “ _Do not touch my family_ ,” he snarls. The manticore-chimera roars, but it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. 

One of the snakes strikes at Virgil from behind, lightning-fast, but he whirls around and slams his hand down. He catches the snake right below its head, fingers flexing around its jaw as he pins it to the ground. Its mouth flies open, but Virgil is ahead of it. He grips the snake’s lower jaw with one hand and upper jaw with the other and tears it apart. 

“ ** _Stay away from my family!_** ” he roars, and then he _moves_. He zips from monster to monster, a purple-and-black blur, tearing them to pieces with his bare hands. The circling sky monstrosities dive down, and Virgil catapults himself off another monster and lands on one of their backs. The monstrosity screeches and careens around the sky, Virgil pulling at the feathers on the back of its head to direct it. “ ** _I won’t let you hurt them, come hell or high water!_** ”

Virgil drives it into the ground, and then slams his hands against the ground as the body bursts into black dust. Massive black shadow spires erupt through the cloud of dust, crackling with purple lightning. They reach high, high into the sky and impale the rest of the winged monstrosities. The bodies fall to the ground and turn to dust on impact as Virgil squares off against the manticore-chimera.

They engage in a few furious minutes of hand-to-hand combat, and those few minutes are enough to completely rattle everything the other three thought they knew about Virgil. They knew Virgil was tall, taller than they are, but when the manticore-chimera rears up on its hind legs to attack, it’s not much taller than he is, even though it towers over Roman and Patton and Logan. They knew Virgil was fast, faster than they are, but they can’t even see him when he jumps around avoiding blows like a gymnast, a streak of purple lightning. They knew Virgil was strong, stronger than they are, but he dispatches monsters with a single blow, and the earth shakes when he lands. 

The manticore-chimera falls to the ground with a loud thud, Virgil panting heavily as he plunges his hand into its chest. It screeches, and Patton cowers against Roman, covering his ears. Roman winces as well; the manticore-chimera has a cry that cuts straight through to the heart of you, and Patton is nothing if not the heart of Thomas. Virgil pulls out a strange, mangled glob of clockwork parts, glowing blue-green. Roman recognizes it almost instantly – it’s the heart. It’s what he has to destroy to end this infernal quest. With its heart removed, the manticore-chimera evaporates.

Virgil turns towards them, and he’s at the base of the tree in a flash, super-speeding forward with the heart held tightly in his hands. “ ** _Hey, Roman,_** ” he calls, and there’s a self-assured smirk on his face that Roman’s never seen before. It doesn’t look as out of place as he’s always assumed it would. “ ** _I assume you know what to do with this?_** ”

He jumps straight up and lands on the branch right below them, eyes still glowing, inky blackness still dripping from his hands. He offers the heart to Roman, who carefully dislodges one arm from Patton to draw his sword. “Throw it into the air,” he says. Virgil flicks his wrist and the heart soars up, up, up, and Roman narrows his eyes and _swings_.

The heart lands in Virgil’s hands, cleaved neatly in half, and a cloud of bright red smoke explodes out, obscuring everything around them. Roman tightens his arm around Patton, and when he opens his eyes again they’re in the living room, him and Patton and Logan on the couch and Virgil standing in front of them.

“ ** _So, you probably have some questions_** ,” Virgil says, fidgeting his hands together. Roman notes the anxious distortion in his voice and exchanges a worried glance with Patton.

“How tall are you?” Logan demands, jumping off the couch. “What is your actual height? You appear to be around six feet tall, but I suspect this is not the case.” 

Virgil looks at Logan with an unreadable expression, and then lifts his head. He pushes his shoulders back, straightens his spine, and stands up straight. Logan tilts his head back to look at him, mouth open in silent wonder. 

“ ** _I’m – I’m six-foot-five,_** ” Virgil says quietly. Roman takes in a deep, shuddering breath, because _holy hell he is so fucking short._ Thomas himself is five-foot-ten, as are Logan and Patton. Roman is five-foot-nine, and they’d assumed Virgil was around five-foot-eleven, six-foot. But no, he’s almost _six and a half feet tall_. He towers over Logan, who tilts his head back to make eye contact. Virgil blinks rapidly a few times and starts to curl back in on himself, but Logan grips his wrist. 

“No!” Virgil startles, and Logan seems to realize he’s done something wrong. He loosens his grip on Virgil’s arm and smiles. “What I meant was . . . you should not feel the need to hide your height from us. Or any of your other attributes, for that matter. We are not going to reject you, if that is what worries you.”

“ ** _Kind of? I just – I didn’t want to sc_** _are you off_ ,” Virgil admits. “ _I’m already kind of intimidating with the whole dark-and-stormy persona, and then there’s fight-or-flight_.”

“You mean super strength and super speed?” Roman asks. Virgil rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. 

“ _If you wanna call it that,_ ” he says. “ _I’m strong in case I need to fight, and I’m fast in case I need to run away. I don’t have the best control, though. I break, like, so many cups_.” 

Patton jumps off the sofa, marches forward, grabs the front of Virgil’s shirt, and yanks him down to eye level. “Are you telling me,” he begins, voice dangerously low, “that you have been _shattering glass in your hands and not telling me_? You could have cut yourself! Why didn’t you tell me, I could have made sure you had Band-Aids!” 

“ _I know how to use antiseptic, Pat._ ”

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Patton snaps. Virgil laughs, and Patton tries to hold his I-am-a-serious-and-angry-dad face, but if there’s one thing that works like magic to make any of them smile, it’s Virgil’s carefree laughter. Soon, they’re all laughing, even Roman, even though he’s wincing from the bruises on his torso.

Patton snaps his fingers and summons a first aid kit and pulls Roman’s shirt off to start treating him. To his credit, he only spends fifteen seconds staring at Roman’s exposed chest before he starts icing bruises and wrapping bandages around his bleeding forearm. 

“I am sorry that you felt the need to hide this from us, Virgil,” Logan says. “Please do not feel that you must continue to do so.”

Virgil smiles, and then he dramatically leans down and kisses the top of Logan’s forehead.

“You’re so tiny,” he laughs. “It’s adorable.”

Logan turns bright red and starts very loudly ranting about how height is not the predominant factor when considering compatibility, while also insisting that he is _not_ adorable, he is a _serious person_ who needs to be taken _seriously_.

Virgil tips his head up and kisses him, and Logan actually has to bend backwards slightly to accommodate his height. Roman snickers, but doesn’t laugh - he doesn’t even call them out on PDA (even though he definitely, totally could).

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on tumblr!! // [@teacupfulofstarshine](https://teacupfulofstarshine.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stressful Adaption](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811492) by [Becca_Q47](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becca_Q47/pseuds/Becca_Q47)




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